Page 9 of The Alpha

I pulled the truck door open, but a large hand slammed down on the frame, closing it with a loud clang.

“Driving around in Reaper property, doing Reaper bitch work. That must make you one of their whores.”

With my other hand I reached into my bag for the can of pepper spray I kept in there, trading out my makeshift brass knuckles, and regretted not having a different type of weapon. A knife. Maybe even a gun. It would have come in real handy right about now. Because keys between my knuckles felt really insignificant in this moment. He was too big, too large of a man, for them to do anything but piss him off and make him meaner.

With the little can of pepper spray in my hand, I faced the rival biker, not showing him weakness or fear. Instinct screamed at me to run, but I was already trapped. There were three of them, the Black Death patches on their leather cuts shadowedunder the dim streetlight. And these men… their eyes gleamed with something cruel and unyielding.

“Reaper’s Scythe property, ain’t she?” one of them mused, taking a lazy step closer but still staying behind the head man who stood in front of me.

His road name patch readTaker. He was their leader; that was obvious. He wasn’t the president of the club, according to his cut, but he was clearly calling the shots for the other two.

Taker, the man directly before me—a wide-shouldered asshole with an ugly scar running the length of his temple down to his chin—smirked. “Yeah. I can smell their stench on you. Bet you suck all their dicks and let them come all over your face like a good slut.”

My stomach twisted. I knew of the rival clubs in the surrounding towns, since I grew up here and hung around the MC. That’s why I cursed myself for not being smarter and waiting until tomorrow morning to do my errands.

Would that really have mattered? These fuckers were clearly planning this, so they would have cornered me no matter what time it had been.

I kept my face stoic, emotionless. But my finger hovered over the trigger of the pepper spray can.

“Not scared, are you, little bitch?” Taker asked, tilting his head.

I forced my chin up, narrowed my eyes, and said, “Get the hell away from me.”

That only made the three of them laugh.

“Oh, asassylittle bitch, isn’t she?” one of the douchebags behind Taker tacked on.

The fucker in front of me took another step forward, forcing me back a step, so I was at an odd angle and partially leaning on the truck’s cab. “Let’s see if she keeps using that mouth when I got her on her knees and my dick shoved down her throat.”

Panic roared to life inside of me, but still, I kept my composure. “Fuck with me and find out, asshole.”

Taker reached out and curled his fingers around a lock of my hair, twisting it in his fist hard enough I felt it pulling sharply at my scalp.

I yanked my head to the side, trying to dislodge his grip, but he held tight, dragging me closer. His breath reeked of booze and smoke, and I gagged.

“Let’s send a little message to the Reapers and fuck her,” the other guy murmured.

The one who had stayed silent until now spoke up, “She might just be a dirty club bitch, and they won’t give a shit if she’s roughed up.”

Taker, still gripping my hair, smirked. “Guess we’ll find out.”

I was shaking with a bitter anger that rivaled all other times I’d been furious in my lifetime. I wasn’t stupid—I knew how this worked. The Black Death MC was like any other rival club. They’d hurt and draw blood and not worry about dealing with the repercussions until later.

They didn’t just want to scare me. They wanted to hurt me, to send a message that was covered in blood and dripping with devious intent.

I needed to get in the truck and get back to the clubhouse. All I saw was survival and the red hue of fury tinting my vision as I pulled the pepper spray out and pointed it at Taker’s face. He expected my attack and yanked my head to the side so hard I cried out in pain when the side of my face slammed against the doorframe.

My precision with the spray was sloppy, since I couldn’t see for a moment, but I still aimed the best I could and pressed down on the trigger. I heard male grunts and curses. Then the pressure on my hair was gone as the asshole stumbled back while coughing, one of the bikers behind him beginning to vomit. Myvision was blurry, from the impact against the car and from my eyes watering being this near the irritating defense, and I felt a trickle of what I assumed was blood trail down my cheek.

For good measure, I aimed again and sprayed, drenching all three so they fell to their knees and frantically rubbed their eyes while heaving in agony.

I was in the truck and peeling away before I even knew I was doing it, glancing in the rearview mirror with still-hazy vision and trying to make out the carnage I’d instilled. I didn’t even know where I was going at first, and it was only when I was pulling into Knox’s driveway, cutting the engine, and staring at his small house that I realized my instincts had brought me here.

Instincts that knew this man would help me.

Instincts telling me I neededhimandnow.

I stood in front of his door, my hand poised to knock, when suddenly it was thrown open. Knox stood there staring at me, wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging sweats.

---